


Hands and Knees (I'm Crawling)

by poisontaster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-30
Updated: 2006-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4870314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a year of begging, it's finally time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands and Knees (I'm Crawling)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wendy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendy/gifts).



"Sam?"

Sam groans, his hips pushing up against Dean's while his hand locked around Dean's hip pulls down. He doesn't want to talk. Things never go well when Dean wants to talk. It's always the thousand and one reasons why they can't do this, why they shouldn't, why this time has to be the last time and frankly, Sam thinks he might just lie down and die if he doesn't get to come. So conversation is not top on his list of ways to occupy this moment.

"Dean," he murmurs, sealing his mouth over his brother's. Dean's boxers aren't down far enough in back and Sam brings his leg up higher, hooks his toe carefully through the band and slip-jerks them below the curve of Dean's ass. "Don't wanna talk." Sam gyrates his hips again in a tight circle. "This is good, c'mon."

Dean's first two fingers slip between their joined lips, pry them apart. Dad's gone and they're taking full advantage of being able to do this by having on all the lights, really see each other. Sam looks up into Dean's eyes and he doesn't see the reluctant guilt that's normally there, sliding uneasily in and out of the more liquid desire. He only sees want, as far back as the darkness goes, and his cock gives a pleasant twitch. "No," Dean murmurs, his fingers mussing across Sam's wet bottom lip, over it to tickle his gums, inside for Sam's tongue to lick salt-sweet off the tips. "It's different. It's okay." Dean's eyes close as his face comes forward again and their lips meet messily, Dean's fingers still between them. "I want…" Dean pulls back suddenly. He's had several beers, bought with hustled cash and a fake id, but Sam doesn't think he's drunk. Just…soft and softened. "You still want to fuck?"

Sam makes the most embarrassing mewling noise that's ever come out of his young mouth—which _includes_ the first time Dean ever stuck a finger (or two) up his ass, hitting his prostate in one go—and arches up to flatten against Dean's body like he's been painted on. "Um. Yes?"

Because it seems like the thing to say, at this point, right?

Right?

Dean groans softly, and his head ducks, forehead pressing against Sam's collar bone. Fingertips slick with Sam's saliva dance over Sam's cheek, slides up into his hair to tangle and grip. "I think…" he says. "I think I'd like that. That I want to."

And Sam's so fucking dumbstruck—not to mention sort of distracted by the siren song of his dick rubbing against Dean's—he can't even feel triumphant. He's been _begging_ Dean for months now ( _…I'm ready. Swear. Fourteen is plenty old enough. Who were_ you _fucking when you were fourteen? I want to, I swear. Please, Dean, please, please…_ ) and every time Dean's turned him down cold. And while normally Sam can't wait to lord the _I win_ over his brother, at this moment, he's a lot more concerned with how to get himself and Dean completely naked before Dean changes his mind.

"O-Okay," he says suavely, and sort of scrunches up to try and push his jeans and shorts down more. "On…on my knees?" His voice keeps sort of breaking and it's _not_ nervousness, it's _not_ ; he's just too excited to keep his voice completely steady, because he and Dean may have only been messing around for a year or so but Sam's been dreaming about Dean and Dean's cock since he knew what his own dick was for.

"No." Dean lifts his head from Sam's shoulder. The hand not in Sam's hair creeps to Sam's flank, soothing across the spur of his hip, curving around his ass to pull him up more snugly against Dean. Sam lets himself be manhandled, completely willing to go wherever Dean's taking him as long as it ends in fucking. "Not…I can't do that, Sam. I know…I know you want it, but I just…I can't."

Sam frowns, confused. "Then how…?" And then the big brain Dean's always teasing him about kicks out a thought and Sam thinks he might die from all the blood rushing out of his head all fast like that.

"You think you'd want to fuck me?"

 _Swooning,_ Sam thinks with a kind of hysterical concentration. _That's what they call it. I should be swooning now._ Because it sure as _hell_ feels like his cock is about to burst from all his blood emptying into it. "Um. Yeah?" he says again, because he's made of awesome that way. "I mean…if you're sure."

Dean nods. "Yeah." Dean sits back on his knees, twists his legs around so he can shove his clothes off the rest of the way. Sam comes upright like he's on strings, partly so he can kick his way out of his own clothes but mostly so he can look at Dean, naked and burned gold by the cheap lamplight. Dean looks up at him, and suddenly there's red coloring over the gold. "You got the lube?"

"Er." Sam looks around wildly, spots it on the nightstand and almost slides right off the bed lunging for it. "Yes! Got it!" He looks back at Dean, who's running one hand up and down his naked thigh, just gazing back at Sam. Sam can damn near see the gears jamming up in Dean's brain again, the guilt, and the 'protect Sammy even from himself' and all the other bullshit that doesn't really matter when it's the two of them and they're together because they're Winchesters and Winchesters can handle anything. Sam knows he's only got a couple seconds to get Dean back, so he wiggles his bare ass at Dean. It's not all seductive (because Sam's not even sure he could manage seductive) but it's jokey and silly—because God knows he's willing to make a fool of himself for Dean—and it seems to work, because Dean cracks a smile and reaches for him.

Sam falls back into Dean's lap—not at all graceful, and he lives for the day he can be half as stealthy as Dean or Dad—and Dean cranes Sam's head back to kiss him, tongue licking into Sam's mouth to caress the roof and then swirl around Sam's tongue. One rough-warm hand strokes down Sam's lean torso, across his shaking belly and then palms Sam's cock, Dean's fingers toying with his balls. Sam shivers and arches back into it, afraid he's going to come right then, from Dean's hands on him, from Dean saying _yes_ and then touching him. "Dean," he says, when Dean's mouth moves to his neck.

"Shhh." Dean's breath puffs hot against his skin. "You're fourteen, man. You can go at least twice. It's good." He strokes, slow and squeezing, fondling over the sticky, leaking head. One hard, skillful slip of Dean's thumb and Sam's whimpering and shaking and coming all over himself and Dean in thick, messy spurts. Dean's mouth is behind his ear, whispering filth and reassurance while he pets and strokes Sam through his orgasm. "So good," Dean murmurs. He squeezes boneless Sam tight then lays him out on the mattress. "God, Sammy, so fucking good. Bet you'll feel this good inside me."

And even slack with oh-my-god-my-brain-just-came-out-my-dick, that makes Sam jerk and whimper because…well, hell. Does he really need to explain that one? To anyone? Dean is over him, nuzzling against Sam's jaw, licking and nipping. Dean sucks light bruises into his skin, ones that will fade before Dad gets back but that they both can admire in the meantime. As they do. His hands rub Sam's semen into his skin and then he licks it away, tickling little wiggles of his tongue and lips. Sam laughs softly, too spent to twist away, and Dean's smile is milky and sweet.

When he gets to Sam's cock, Dean spends a long time on the head, soft nibbles and deep soul-kissing sucks so that soon, Sam's writhing and rolling under Dean's heavy body, making soft pleading noises and clutching with all his limbs. It's good. It's so good and this is almost all Sam's ever wanted. Almost. And when Sam's cock is full and hard again, Dean kisses Sam's fingers one by one before coating them in thick, clear gel and showing Sam where and how to touch him.

Sam's eyes feel so big when his fingers slip in; he feels shocked and at the same time, he understands the look he saw on Dean's face when this was the other way around and Sam was riding Dean's hand. His body's known a long time he wants to fuck Dean—or be fucked, because he's really not all that picky, for sure—but he hasn't given any clear thought to what it would feel like, there inside Dean. It feels…

Jesus, it feels _amazing_.

"How?" he asks Dean, when Dean is fucking Sam's hand, his head thrown back to expose the strong, glistening line of his throat. Sam's other hand is wrapped hard around his cock, because he doesn't want to have to wait again and the noises Dean's making are the hottest sounds Sam's ever heard, even in his extensive collection of wet dreams. "God, Dean… Now, please. Just…how?"

Dean stills, the muscles inside him clinging and fluttering in this way that threatens to destroy a good portion of Sam's brain cells. "You sure, Sammy?" he asks. He sounds almost sad, but his face still looks almost blissful. "It's the last time I'm asking."

"Yeah," Sam says, unwinding his hand from his dick long enough to knead the tense muscle of the inside of Dean's thigh. He follows the line of muscle to Dean's cock, his finger dipping in the wet, beading slit, rubbing the slick fluid around the ridge and down the shaft. Dean's hips buck in a slow roll. "Stupid question, man. I'm _fourteen_. I'd fuck the couch cushions at this stage."

Dean laughs and there's not a bit of sadness in it at all and Sam just has to smile at him because when Dean's happy you just can't fight it and Sam doesn't want to. "Okay," he says. "Like this." He reaches between his legs to take hold of Sam's cock and slowly lowers himself on it.

Sam moans at the first pressure-heat of Dean around him and some of that _amazing_ must show through on Sam's face, because Dean looks down at him and grins, open-mouthed and panting. "Yeah?" he asks, sounding breathless. "That good?"

Sam nods his head a bunch of times, still a little brain fried to answer in words. Why weren't they doing this before? God, why haven't they been doing this the whole time?

Dean keeps sinking down on him, taking Sam in, his eyes closed and his mouth pulled crooked by his teeth biting the corner. His cock isn't as hard as it was a few minutes before and though Sam isn't exactly sure of the etiquette of this, he figures a helping hand on the dick never goes amiss. The weight of Dean in his palm is always a wonder. Not only because it's not his but because it's Dean and it's such a well-protected part of his body to be trusted with.

Dean cries out, sharp and startled, when Sam's fingers stroke over him, fingering the wet and swollen head, playing in the slit and the fluid from it. "Sammy," he breathes a second later and his eyes open, dazzling and too-bright. It's not a protest—which Sam is still waiting for, truth be told—and braver, Sam wraps his whole hand around Dean's cock and jacks it hard and sliding, the way he knows Dean likes.

And Dean sure must like it— _go Sammy!_ —because he sounds that same wavering moan, moving now, back-forth, up-down, riding Sam's cock. In between trying to coordinate between Dean's rhythm on his dick and his rhythm on Dean's, Sam thinks: _I'm—we're—doing it! **It**!_

Sam's head flings back and his eyes half-lid, watching Dean watching him. Dean fixes him with a narrow look. "Don’t come," he warns Sam. "Don't be that guy, Sam. Don't you fucking come."

Sam shakes his head. _Don't come,_ he tells himself, just as sternly. _Don't come, don't come, don't come._ He fights it like he's…well, like he's not a fourteen year old boy. Dean let him do this… _oh God…that…oh, that's just **awesome**_ —and dimly, Sam feels like he should make it good for Dean too.

Sam did research about it, way back before he first shyly brought the topic up. There had been charts. Dean had laughed and had not, Sam thinks, been suitably impressed by his diligence. But Sam still remembers that cut-away of the inside of a man's body. He remembers how it feels when Dean finds that little knot inside him with his fingers and. If. He. Can. Just. Get Dean. To angle…

It feels weird making suggestions, even non-verbal ones, when he knows he's got nothing like experience or technique to rely on, but after Sam wriggles, and shifts and tugs Dean down a little— _don't come, sweet God, don't come_ —he's rewarded by the groaning change of Dean's moans and Dean's cock spurting pre-come all over Sam's belly. Dean's fingers tighten on Sam's shoulders. "Oh, God."

"Dean?" Sam asks, pretty sure that means good things, but feeling a little unsure about it given his…well, total lack of anything approaching technique.

Dean smiles wide and true without opening his eyes. "It's good, Sammy. Jesus. It's…" Dean shifts forward a little bit and moans loudly, sending little thrills of pride up Sam's stretched tight body. "God, it's really fucking good."

Sam can't be still any more; he starts thrusting, deep and hard, fully expecting another one of Dean's death glares, but instead, Dean's thighs tense and he grinds down into each of Sam's thrusts taking him deep, God, so deep that Sam feels like he's never coming out. "Dean," he sort of yelps, hoarse and with his voice breaking all over the place. "Dean, I don’t think…"

"Yeah," Dean interrupts. He lets go with one hand to wrap around his own cock and start fucking his hand, hard and hasty. "Yeah, Sam, I'm almost there. Just hang on, okay? Just a little…oh… _oh_ …Sam… _Sam_ …"

And who could be expected to hang on after that? After your brother's whole _body_ grabs onto your cock and fucking _wrings_ the come out of you and it's not like you've got a brain cell left that can stand up against that kind of feeling, especially when every nerve ending is chiming in with it's own _mmm, yesyesyes_. Fucking is not a democratic decision and Sam makes the second most embarrassing sound of his life, his back arching up rigidly until he thinks his spine might snap and everything in him pouring out into Dean.

Afterwards, they're both sort of lying there and both trying to take up too much space for the narrow bed, all sprawled across each other and Dean mutters, "Dude. Next time we're using condoms."

Sam can't lift his head because all his bones have left via his dick, so he turns his head. He's grinning. He feels like he's going to be grinning the rest of his natural life. Not just because that was the best fucking thing _ever_ but also because Dean said _next time_. "You think you can turn one up in fifteen minutes? Because _I'm_ not moving."

"Fifteen minutes?" Dean yelps. "What the fuck makes you think…"

Sam rolls over onto Dean and smiles down into his brother's face. "Because I'm _fourteen_ ," he says and grinds their soft cocks against each other. "Hell, it might not even take that long."

Dean whimpers. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to quietdiscerning for the title and nymeria for the beta.


End file.
